Ballada o dziwnym malarzu [English translation]

Empty pockets and a bag full of dreams

This is the odd painter, who used to frequent here

All knew him, they knew about it that

He had sold his soul for the world of a hundred brushes

He didn't trust in people and maybe not in himself as well

He experienced too much pain, he shed too many tears

Fed with scorn and a thrown penny

He often sat here, he wanted to sell some pictures

Who will buy at least one today?

You didn't see, you turn left, want already to go

But it may be that when you see right at them

You'll find your frailty and the shine of dreaming

Who knows?

He changed his life for a delirious dream

Losing his truth and his meaning on the way

To dare finally and knock there

Where he's now painting eternal time with white paint

Who will buy at least one today

You didn't see, you turn left, want already to go

But it may be that when you see right at them

You'll find your frailty and the shine of dreaming

Who knows?